CONCLUSION.
THE prisoner, whom Mark had left securely bound, was standing in front
of the mouth of the passage-way, trying to peer through the darkness
that obscured it, and over his shoulder we could see the faces of the
rest of the Dragoons, and also the scowling visages of Luke Redman and
Pete, the half-breed. The robber was angrier than ever, and was swearing
loudly.
“It’s lucky I thought to send Barney around here, ain’t it?” we heard
him say. “Them boys would have been out an’ gone in five minutes more.
They’re smarter than the hull lot on us put together. What’s to be
done?”
“Let’s hide in these yere bushes an’ ketch ’em when they come out,”
suggested Barney. “Jake, s’pose you go in thar an’ lay down ag’in like
you was tied, so they won’t know thar’s any thing wrong.”
“Wal, now, s’pose you go yourself,” retorted Jake. “You’re mighty
willin’ to send other fellows into danger, hain’t you? None on us ain’t
a-goin’ in thar to face the buckshot in them guns. Send the dogs in,
pap; that’s the way to bring ’em out.”
Luke Redman was prompt to act upon this suggestion. He set up a shout,
and in a few seconds the hounds appeared and crowded into the mouth of
the passage-way; while Mark, Tom and I stationed ourselves side by side
and cocked both barrels of our guns in readiness to give them a warm
reception.
But we soon found that we had nothing to fear from them. They made the
passage echo with their baying, and acted fiercely enough to tear a
regiment of men in pieces, but not one of them could be induced to
advance a single step beyond the opening.
Luke scolded, urged and threatened in vain. Becoming highly enraged at
last, he jumped among them, and kicking right and left with his heavy
boots, cleared the mouth of the passage as quickly as a volley from our
double-barrels would have done.
Having disposed of the dogs, Luke stormed about at a great rate, shaking
his fists in the air and stamping the ground with fury.
“We had oughter been on our way to the river long ago,” said he. “The
hull settlement will be gallopin’ through these woods in less’n an hour,
an’ if we’re here then, we’re booked for the lock-up, sure. But I ain’t
a-goin’ to stir one step till I get that money. Call the dogs ag’in,
Barney, an’ I’ll go in with ’em. I reckon they’ll foller me. What’s that
ar’?”
As Luke Redman asked this question, the savage scowl vanished and his
face grew white with terror. For a moment he and his companions stood as
if they had been rooted to the ground, casting frightened glances
through the cane on all sides of them, and then with a common impulse
they scattered right and left, and were out of sight in a twinkling.
We were not long in finding out what had caused their alarm, for just
then the clear, ringing blast of a hunting-horn echoed through the
woods, followed by a chorus of the same kind of music, which, coming
from all directions, told us that the island was surrounded. Hounds
yelped, men shouted, the tramping of horses’ hoofs came faintly to our
ears, and then five dogs, my own faithful Zip among the number, dashed
past the mouth of the passage-way, closely followed by Sandy, Duke and
Herbert.
“Hurrah!” we all shouted at once. “We’re safe now. The settlers have
come at last.”
Mark and the young Indian sprang down the passage, and I was about to
follow them when Tom laid his hand on my arm.
“Joe,” said he, “I will give this valise and gun into your care, and
will thank you to see that they are restored to their owners. I know you
will do this much for me, for it is the last favor I shall ask of you.”
I took the articles in question as Tom handed them to me, and when I
raised my eyes to look at him, he was gone. He had jumped past me,
dashed out of the passage, and disappeared into the bushes before I
could say a word to him.
I was not long in following him. Holding the guns over my shoulder with
one hand, and grasping the valise with the other, I ran out into the
cane just in time to place myself in the way of some swiftly moving
body, which struck me with such force that I was whirled through the air
as if I had been thrown from the cow-catcher of a locomotive. The guns
flew out of my hand, but involuntarily I tightened my grasp on the
valise.
“Aha!” exclaimed a gruff voice; “things is comin’ out all right, arter
all. The money is mine an’ so is the mar’.”
Almost as soon as I touched the ground, I raised myself on my elbow, and
when I had taken a single glance at the horse standing before me, I
comprehended the situation.
It was Black Bess, and the man who was dismounting from her was Luke
Redman.
He had by some means succeeded in securing the horse and eluding the
settlers, and was riding at full speed through the cane, when I had run
directly in his path and been knocked down—a circumstance which the
outlaw regarded as favorable to himself, although it turned out exactly
the reverse.
He probably imagined that I was badly injured by the hard fall I had
received, and he must have been astonished at the determined resistance
he met with when he rushed up to me and attempted to take the valise out
of my hand.
I have no idea how long the struggle continued, for my brain was in a
great whirl, and I took no note of time. All I knew was that I must hold
fast to that money.
I was dragged about through the cane, beaten on the head by Luke
Redman’s hard fist, and when at last he tore the valise from my grasp, I
threw my arms about his legs and pitched him headlong on the ground.
Just as this happened, I heard a furious crashing in the cane, several
dark objects bounded over me and commenced a desperate battle with my
antagonist, cries of pain and ejaculations of surprise rang in my ears,
and then all was blank to me. Some of the settlers, with their dogs, had
arrived just in time.
It was dark when my consciousness returned. At first I did not know
where I was or what was the matter with me, but gradually the
remembrance of the scenes through which I had passed during the
afternoon came back to me, and I started up in alarm, expecting to find
myself once more a prisoner in the hands of the robber band.
A single look, however, was enough to satisfy me that I was among
friends, and that I had nothing to fear. I was lying on a blanket in
front of a blazing fire, and father and our fellows were stretched out
on the ground beside me.
Camp-fires were shining in every direction among the trees, and around
them reposed the stalwart forms of the settlers, all sleeping soundly
after the fatigues of the day. A short distance off lay General Mason,
with his valise under his head for a pillow, and a little further on
stood Black Bess.
Under a tree, on the opposite side of the fire, lay every one of those
who had belonged to the party which made the attack on our camp—Tom
Mason excepted—securely bound, and watched over by two armed sentinels.
There was no one stirring in the camp, and the silence was broken only
by the crackling of the fires, the sighing of the wind through the
leafless branches above our heads, and the low murmur of the
conversation kept up by the guards.
The feeling of comfort and safety I experienced was refreshing, indeed,
after my day of excitement. I lay for a long time thinking over my
adventures, and looking through the trees toward the spot whereon had
stood the robber’s stronghold, now reduced to a glowing bed of coals,
and at last sank into a deep slumber.
The next morning I awoke to find that all our fellows were looked upon
as heroes, and that the lion’s share of the honors had been accorded to
me. All the planters wanted to hear my story, and during the ride
homeward I had a crowd of eager listeners about me all the time.
Our prisoners were lodged in jail at three o’clock that afternoon, and
at the next term of the court they were dealt with according to their
deserts. Luke Redman’s plea, that he did not steal the money from
General Mason, did not avail him. He had twice been caught with it in
his possession, and that was enough for the jury who tried him; for he
was sentenced to state’s prison for a long term of years, and the Swamp
Dragoons, one and all, were sent to the Reform School.
There was evidence enough to convict Pete of setting fire to our cotton
gin, and so Luke Redman had company when he went to prison. The rest of
the half-breeds were ordered out of the country, and I think they went,
for I never saw them afterward.
Taken altogether, it was a grand thinning out of rascals, and if no one
else was glad of it, our fellows were.
“Mark Two Times” lost nothing by the services he rendered us. Father
gave him a splendid horse; I sent to New Orleans, and bought him a
silver-mounted rifle; Mark presented him with a gaudily-ornamented suit
of buckskin; Duke gave him a couple of hounds; and, in fact, there was
scarcely a person in the neighborhood who did not remember him in some
way.
And what became of Tom Mason? I gave the valise into the general’s
hands, accompanied by a hint that Tom had gone off to seek his fortune,
and that it would be a long time before any of us would see him again;
and I never saw a man so delighted and angry as he was—delighted to have
his money back, and angry to learn that Tom had repaid his kindness by
running away.
“The gold is all here,” said he, as he ran his hand over the shining
pieces, “but I see that some of them are wet. I don’t suppose you
fellows had opportunity to steal any of them. And so Tom has run away?
Dear me! but won’t he be sorry? If he comes to my house, I’ll shut the
door in his face. I won’t have such an ingrate about.”
Every one supposed that General Mason was very angry at his nephew, as,
indeed, he was, but in a week or two it became known that he had sent
his overseer up and down the river to learn something of Tom’s
whereabouts; but he came back and reported that he had followed him as
far as Memphis, and there all traces of him had been lost. I tell you, I
began to have some respect for Tom after that. He had only fifty dollars
in his pocket that I knew anything about, and a boy that would start off
with that amount of money and face the world had a good deal in him.
For a year nothing was heard of Tom Mason, and those who had business
with the general noticed that he had got over a good deal of his
“crankiness,” and that it was difficult to make him mad. Before that he
used to fly off the handle without any cause whatever. Jerry Lamar was
astonished at the general’s conduct, and well he might be. He and his
father wanted to get off the place, for they did not want to live near a
man who would accuse one of them of stealing five thousand dollars, but
the general wouldn’t hear to it. He bought all their logs at good
prices, and Jerry was in a fair way of making a man of himself. He began
to pay more attention to General Mason, and often told us that he wished
he had Tom where he could talk to him. He was certain that everything
would be forgiven if Tom would only come back.
Another year passed without bringing any word from the runaway, and it
finally got noised abroad in the settlement that he was dead. The old
gentleman heard it, and he bent over a little at the shoulders and
walked with a cane. It was plain that he loved Tom, and that nobody else
could take his place. Six months more passed—Tom had now been gone two
years and a half—when one morning I saw General Mason coming down the
road faster than I had ever seen him ride before. He held an open letter
in his hand, and beckoned me out to the bars. I had seldom seen a man so
excited. He was laughing and crying, all at once, so that I could hardly
understand him.
“That miserable Tom is alive and kicking,” said he. “Here’s a letter
from him that tells me everything he has been through—six pages of it.
You must answer it, for I won’t. Write to him that if I had him here
with a rawhide in my hand, I would make him shed tears to pay for all
the agony he caused me, I bet you. Tell him, too, that everything has
been forgotten and forgiven, and that if he will come back I will
receive him with open arms. I’ll teach the young scamp to run away from
me!”
I wrote to Tom that night, away in some little town in Texas, and in due
time he came home. I tell you, it would have bothered anybody in that
settlement to take the rawhide to him. He was immense; the climate of
Texas seemed to have agreed with him. He had been—but it is a long
story, and there isn’ place for it in this book. Besides, I must bid you
good-bye as a story-teller, for I am through writing about Tom. I will
turn my history of him over to a cowboy who was with him on the Plains
and who knows all about him. He promises me that he will soon begin the
narrative of his wanderings in a book to be called “ELAM STORM THE
WOLFER; or, THE LOST NUGGET.”
THE END.
==‘SOCIAL==
==‘SPIRITUAL==
Studies in Human and Divine Inter-Relationship
BY
RUFUS M. JONES, A.M., LITT. D.
_Professor of Philosophy in Haverford College, Pa._
This is a fresh interpretation of the deepest problems of life. It
discusses the most interesting phases of recent psychological
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“Professor Jones offers here a series of studies on the nature and
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The Sub-Conscious Life, The Inner Light, etc., etc., with an aim to show
through Psychology, as Drummond showed through Biology, that life can be
unified from top to bottom.”—_Christian Work and the Evangelist._
“The author bears a unique equipment for the task, having studied
Philosophy at Harvard under Royce and Palmer, and acquired the art of
presenting it to untrained thinkers in his capacity of Professor of
Philosophy at Haverford College.”—_British Friend._
_12mo. 272 pages. Extra Vellum Cloth,
Gilt Top, Uncut Edges. Price $1.25
Net (Postage 10 Cents)._
THE JOHN C. WINSTON COMPANY
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------------------------------------------------------------------------
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UNCLE WASH: HIS STORIES
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=LIST OF TITLES=
DICKENS’ STORIES ABOUT CHILDREN. Every Child can read
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LEATHER STOCKING TALES. Every Child can read
PILGRIM’S PROGRESS. Every Child can read
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=HURLBUT’S STORY OF=
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BY REV. JESSE LYMAN HURLBUT, D.D.
------------------------------------------------------------------------
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fiction.”—_Albany Times-Union._
=12mo. Cloth. 341 pages=
Price $1.20 Net. Postage 13 cents
=THE BISHOP OF COTTONTOWN=
=A STORY OF THE TENNESSEE VALLEY=
Love, pathos and real humor run through the book in delightful measure.
Over all is shed the light of the “Old Bishop,” endearing himself to
every reader by his gentleness, his strength and his uncynical knowledge
of the world which he finds so good to live in. 31 editions have already
been sold.
=12mo. Cloth. 606 pages=
Price $1.50 Postpaid
=UNCLE WASH: HIS STORIES=
A book of stories centering about the character of “Uncle Wash,” which
even in the brief time since its publication has achieved a large and
notable success among all classes of readers. Many editions have already
been sold.
“One of the few great books.”—_Rochester Union and Advertiser._
“A mine of humor and pathos.”—_Omaha World-Herald._
=12mo. Cloth. 329 pages=
Price $1.50 Postpaid
=A SUMMER HYMNAL=
=A ROMANCE OF TENNESSEE=
The story of Edward Ballington and his love affairs with two delightful
girls in charming contrast, forms the plot of this captivating love
story. On the threads of this narrative is woven the story of a blind
man who meets the catastrophe of sudden darkness in a spirit of bravery,
sweetness and resignation which commands the love and respect of every
reader.
=12mo. Cloth. 332 pages=
Price $1.25 Postpaid
=SONGS AND STORIES FROM TENNESSEE=
In truth Mr. Moore, in this collection of songs and stories of Dixie
Land, has created a work that will live long in the traditions of the
South and longer in the hearts of his readers. One has only to read “Ole
Mistis,” the first story in this collection, to feel the power of Mr.
Moore’s genius. It is at once the finest story of a horse race ever
written, a powerful love story and most touchingly pathetic narrative of
the faith and devotion of a little slave.
=12mo. Cloth. 358 pages=
Price $1.25 Postpaid
=THE OLD COTTON GIN=
The “Old Cotton Gin” breathes the passionate patriotism of the South,
her dearest sentiments, her pathos and regrets, her splendid progress
and her triumphant future. This poem is a popular favorite throughout
the South, and has been adopted officially in some states. The author is
one of her truest sons. All the pages of the book are decorated with
original drawings, including seven exceedingly fine full-page
illustrations.
=Bound in imported Silk Cloth. Size 6½ × 9½ inches=
Price $1.00 Net. Postage 10 cents
ALL OF THE ABOVE BOOKS ARE HANDSOMELY
ILLUSTRATED BY WELL-KNOWN ARTISTS
--------------
THE JOHN C. WINSTON CO., _Publishers_
WINSTON BUILDING PHILADELPHIA
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GREAT PICTURES
—————AS—————
MORAL TEACHERS
------------------------------------------------------------------------
By HENRY E. JACKSON
_A Recognition of the Value of Pictures in Teaching_
The author has selected twenty of the world’s great pictures and
sculptures and interpreted the meaning which the artist intended to
convey.
People are awakening more and more to the value of works of art in
teaching. They are regaining a truer perspective and saner judgment in
regard to them. That pictures are of great value in teaching certain
forms of knowledge is not now questioned; on the contrary, it is
approved and practiced. In view of this, the need arises for careful
selection and education of the popular taste. The present work is
intended to meet this need. The author has chosen his subjects with
great care and adopted as his interpretation the consensus of opinion
among great critics.
The subject is treated in a manner to interest not only students of
religious history and movements, but those viewing it from a purely
artistic standpoint. The work contains twenty fine half-tone engravings
made from authorized photographs of the original paintings and
sculptures.
=Price · · · · · $1.50=
=The John C. Winston Co., Publishers
PHILADELPHIA, PA.=
------------------------------------------------------------------------
BOOKS BY MAX ADELER
(CHARLES HEBER CLARK)
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The Quakeress: A Tale
"In his ‘Quakeress,’ Mr. Clark has achieved instant—and in all
probability lasting—success as a writer of dignified fiction."—_The St.
Louis Star._
“He has made of pretty Abby Woolford’s heart-history a prose epic of
Quakerdom.”—_The North American, Philadelphia._
_Illustrations in color by George Gibbs._
Cloth. Popular Edition. 400 pages. $0.75.
IN HAPPY HOLLOW
One of the stories which established Max Adeler’s reputation as a
humorist.
_Cloth, extra, with 58 illustrations._ $1.25.
OUT OF THE HURLY-BURLY;
OR, LIFE IN AN ODD CORNER
_Cloth, extra, 12mo._ $1.25.
CAPTAIN BLUITT; A TALE OF OLD TURLEY
_Cloth, extra, 12mo._ $1.50.
More than 1,000,000 copies of Max Adeler’s Books
Have Been Sold.
=THE JOHN C. WINSTON CO., Publishers=
=PHILADELPHIA=
------------------------------------------------------------------------
_THE JOHN C. WINSTON COMPANY’S POPULAR JUVENILES_
------------------------------------------------------------------------
HORATIO ALGER, JR.
-------
The enormous sales of the books of Horatio Alger, Jr., show the
greatness of his popularity among the boys, and prove that he is one of
their most favored writers. I am told that more than half a million
copies altogether have been sold, and that all the large circulating
libraries in the country have several complete sets, of which only two
or three volumes are ever on the shelves at one time. If this is true,
what thousands and thousands of boys have read and are reading Mr.
Alger’s books! His peculiar style of stories, often imitated but never
equaled, have taken a hold upon the young people, and, despite their
similarity, are eagerly read as soon as they appear.
Mr. Alger became famous with the publication of that undying book,
“Ragged Dick, or Street Life in New York.” It was his first book for
young people, and its success was so great that he immediately devoted
himself to that kind of writing. It was a new and fertile field for a
writer then, and Mr. Alger’s treatment of it at once caught the fancy of
the boys. “Ragged Dick” first appeared in 1868, and ever since then it
has been selling steadily, until now it is estimated that about 200,000
copies of the series have been sold.—“_Pleasant Hours for Boys and
Girls._”
-------
A writer for boys should have an abundant sympathy with them. He should
be able to enter into their plans, hopes, and aspirations. He should
learn to look upon life as they do. Boys object to be written down to. A
boy’s heart opens to the man or writer who understands him.—From
“_Writing Stories for Boys_,” by Horatio Alger, Jr.
=RAGGED DICK SERIES=
6 vol By HORATIO ALGER, $6.00
Ragged Dick. Rough and Ready.
Fame and Fortune. Ben, the Luggage Boy.
Mark, the Match Boy. Rufus and Rose.
=TATTERED TOM SERIES—First Series=
4 vols. By HORATIO ALGER, JR. $4.00
Tattered Tom Phil, the Fiddler
Paul, the Peddler Slow and Sure
=TATTERED TOM SERIES—Second Series=
4 vols. $4.00
Julius Sam’s Chance
The Young Outlaw The Telegraph Boy
=CAMPAIGN SERIES=
3 vols. By HORATIO ALGER, JR. $3.00
Frank’s Campaign Charlie Codman’s Cruise
Paul Prescott’s Charge
=LUCK AND PLUCK SERIES—First Series=
4 vols. By HORATIO ALGER, JR. $4.00
Luck and Pluck Strong and Steady
Sink or Swim Strive and Succeed
=LUCK AND PLUCK SERIES—Second Series=
4 vol $4.00
Try and Trust Risen from the Ranks
Bound to Rise Herbert Carter’s Legacy
=BRAVE AND BOLD SERIES=
4 vols. By HORATIO ALGER, JR. $4.00
Brave and Bold Shifting for Himself
Jack’s Ward Wait and Hope
=NEW WORLD SERIES=
3 vols. By HORATIO ALGER, JR. $3.00
Digging for Gold Facing the World
In a New World
=VICTORY SERIES=
3 vols. By HORATIO ALGER, JR. $3.00
Only an Irish Boy Adrift in the City
Victor Vane, or the Young Secretary
=FRANK AND FEARLESS SERIES=
3 vols. By HORATIO ALGER, JR. $3.00
Frank Hunter’s Peril Frank and Fearless
The Young Salesman
=GOOD FORTUNE LIBRARY=
3 vols. By HORATIO ALGER, JR. $3.00
Walter Sherwood’s Probation A Boy’s Fortune
The Young Bank Messenger
=HOW TO RISE LIBRARY=
3 vols. By HORATIO ALGER, JR. $3.00
Jed, the Poorhouse Boy Rupert’s Ambition
Lester’s Luck
----------
SENT POSTPAID ON RECEIPT OF PRICE
----------
THE JOHN C. WINSTON CO., _Publishers_
WINSTON BUILDING PHILADELPHIA
------------------------------------------------------------------------
Transcriber’s Note
Errors deemed most likely to be the printer’s have been corrected, and
are noted here. The references are to the page and line in the original.
184.17 the gruff voice of Luke [,/.] Replaced.
226.25 I’ll send it back to my uncle, where it Added.
belongs[.]
243.22 such as you city boys buy in the variety Removed.
stor[i]es,
304.20 You must answer it, for I won[’]t. Inserted.